Another Day, Another Master
by Holding Infinity
Summary: Bartimaeus is summoned by a new master and discovers his birth name. Will Alexander share Nathaniel's fate, or can these two work something out?
1. Chapter 1

In general, explosions are to be avoided.

Explosions near you are to be avoided at all cost. It was with this mentality that I rolled to the left and subsequently collided with a boulder. The boulder provided excellent cover from my master's Hex. The rock crumbled under the force of whatever he'd thrown at me. I peeked out from the rubble, waving cheerily.

"You almost hit me that time!"

Poor boy. His face turned a lovely shade of purple.[1] I almost wanted to snap a photo, see if I could recreate that hue with a palette. He rubbed the top of his head with grungy fingers, running them through his short hair and mussing it even more.

It seemed like something of a habit for him. A nervous motion. I pondered whether he'd had longer hair recently, and threading it between his fingers had been more satisfying. In any case, he was certainly nervous. I didn't blame him. Things got hairy if a djinni discovered its master's true name.

This boy was named Alexander.[2]

In truth, he probably considered himself less of a boy and more of a man. Probably in his late teens, he had the look of someone used to being respected. Short, ashen brown hair. It looked almost grayish, despite his youth. I pitied him.[3] Steely silver eyes and a firmly grimacing mouth completed the image of a sullen princeling.

"Bartimaeus," he intoned. Probably trying to impress me with his deep, manly voice.

"Alexander," I replied. My sickly sweet falsetto was almost too much for even myself to bear.

He winced, returning to his normal tone. "Come out from behind there. We've got things to talk about. And I don't mean punishments. I mean compromise."

"Ha! Compromise? You're the magician here. Why not dispose of this unworthy demon with the Shriveling Fire? You don't need to compromise with me.[4] Isn't that what your breed thinks?"

"You almost sound like you'd prefer death."

"You almost sound like you'd prefer compromise."

"Of course I do."

"I don't believe it."

"Bartimaeus!"

I couldn't be sure, because I was still behind the boulder, but I guessed his face was tending toward the purplish cast again. "Yes?"

He was not going to remove me from behind this boulder. I pledged it to myself. This demon was staying right here.

"I'll use some favors. Remove your name from a few lists."

Ha! He expected that to sway me? I didn't dignify his lie with a response, switching into Ptolemy's form and twiddling my thumbs instead.

"Come out from there." He commanded. I could hear his frustration.

"Say please."

"What?"[5]

"You heard me," I could hardly contain my glee; I was almost giggling. And spirits don't giggle.[6]

"Please come out from behind that boulder, Bartimaeus. I'd like to speak face to face."

"No thanks." I replied.

I'd had the foresight to switch into a smaller form. He hit the boulder with another Hex. Of the exact nature, I wasn't sure. What little was left of it vaporized from a second hit. An elegant desert cat licked its paw and fixed Alexander with a glare.

"Now that wasn't very nice."

"I'll show you nice." The boy growled.

* * *

><p>1. Sort of a red-violet. Really, I wish I'd had some form of documentation of it. Quite impressive.<p>

2. I'd stumbled across it by accident, really. (That's a lie. I was looking for it.) I'd been charged to unearth the truth of his past- who his parents were, where they lived, etc etc. Well, it's a good story to tell. It involves an orphanage, a dress (orange), a pair of glasses, a city bus, and a mansion in Northampton. I'll have to explain it at another time.

3. In later years, it became a good thing for me to needle him about. But now I'm getting ahead of myself.

4. How true. Though the Shriveling Fire was complex, I thought Alex had it in him. And it was certainly less worry than dealing with a rogue djinni that knew a little too much.

5. He sounded truly shocked by this idea. Asking a demon nicely? What nonsense!

6. Much.

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><p>Disclaimer: Bartimaeus isn't mine. Never was, never will be. Alexander is.<p>

A/N: First BT fanfiction. Does Bartimaeus seem in character? Let me know if I did well/what I can change. Thanks.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I don't own Bartimaeus. Or Jared Leto. (But I can dream.)

A/N: This is the unexplained part of last chapter; how Bartimaeus discovered Alexander's true name. (Which, yes, is Alexander. In case anyone was confused about that.)

* * *

><p>Teenagers. I scoffed to myself.<p>

So self righteous. How did they get anything done? How did anyone suffer through a legitimate conversation with them? These are truly profound mysteries.

My master had some silly idea in his head that he was lost royalty.[1] Honestly. Hadn't this kid been to the real world? His little dream was the stuff of fairytales. And everyone knew that those were the most _idiotic_ garbage ever spouted by the human race.[2]

I yawned at shifted forms. Discreetly, of course. I was in the bathroom of some important department store or another. I'd slipped inside with the help of a woman and her purse.[3] Now I sauntered out in the form of a tall, slender woman. Stony grey eyes skipped quickly over the surrounding commoners before I stalked out into London's rain.

Pulling a fur lined hood up around my sharp-angled face, I clip-clopped[4] over to an orphanage a few blocks away. Upon entering the lobby, I realized that I most probably wouldn't find the answers I was seeking here. It was dark and dingy, the entire room stank of urine, and a layer of dust seemed to have settled on everything.

My heels sounded even more ridiculous inside, but I soldiered through it and approached what I guessed was the front desk. A small, mousy boy manned the table with his nose in a book. I took off my cloak and threw it over one slender arm. The boy looked up.

His eyes widened behind thick glasses.

I smiled suggestively.

"M-mayIhelpyoumadam?" He talked so quickly that the words slurred together.

I gave a tinkling little laugh. "Pardon me, I couldn't quite understand you. Would you mind repeating yourself terribly?"

"I-I- May I help you?" The poor boy was smitten. I didn't blame him, though. I'd modeled my form after one of the advertisements I'd seen in the department store. Huge eyes, angled features, long, blonde waves and a figure in much the shape and proportions of an hour glass. And she wore an orange dress.[5]

"Oh, you're quite the sweetheart. You _could_ do me an enormous favor." I twirled a some golden strands around my finger.

"Anything, madam." He looked like he'd willingly brave the Thames for me. In nothing but socks.

I reached down and plucked his glasses from his face, settling them on my own aquiline nose. "Would you take me into the back room," here I paused. He looked like he was about to pass out. "And show me a few records? Could you do that for me?"

The boy nodded. I flashed a winning smile at him.

After gleaning what information I could from the secretary and leaving him dazed,[6] I flounced over to the nearest bus station, stole a ticket, and was on my way to Northampton. The records had shown the entry of a four-year-old boy thirteen years ago. He was listed as a possible apprentice, _and_ the last name and address of his parents was included.

I'd struck gold.

In any case, the ticket theft required a form shift. I was now a distinguished, brooding man. Dressed in formal attire, he flaunted a salt and pepper goatee, darkish hair, and hazel eyes. I caught a few women glancing at me sidelong. One of them even sidled up to me and tried to engage me in small talk. We chatted merrily for a few minutes before my phone buzzed in my pocket.

I apologized and took the call from my "sister".

"James speaking. Oh, hello, Helen! No, I'm not busy. How are you?…" And on.

After a good long time of discussing Helen, her children, and our upcoming family reunion, I hung up to meet the collective glares of five or so ladies from the bus.[7] I had to suffer through the rest of the bus ride all on my lonesome. Not that I was complaining. I had a hard time of keeping track of the date- last I'd known, America was still a few rebellious colonies. Now they had a president? As such, talking about worldly topics was slightly tricky.

I arrived in Northampton to even more rain. England was still England, at least.

Deciding a form shift was prudent, I ducked into a restroom and exited as a wisp of fog. Finding the parents' house wasn't too tricky. It was outside of the city, though. Which meant some more traveling. I wasn't complaining, though. I'd take floating through the air over riding in a smelly metal box any day.

When the mansion came into view, I _almost_ believed my master's little "I am royalty!" spiel.

It was enormous, all green-streaked marble and large columns. I counted six floors, and at least thirty windows. One corner room had a spectacular view of Northampton- the outward facing walls were both fully glass. He came from money. A lot of it.

Flipping through the planes, I found a defense nexus. Easily surmountable. Using the same trick as when I'd invaded Lovelace's holdings, I burrowed under the defenses and came up by the manor wall. Shifting into smoke once more, I drifted upward. I entered through one of the numerous chimneys. I'd taken a lucky guess and ended up in what looked like the library. A gut feeling urged me to look around a little.

And so, as Ptolemy, I browsed the shelves.

I found that his parents were magicians.

I also found a collection of journals.

Flipping through them, I simply could not believe my luck.

"_April 18th, 1993_

_Alexander has just been born. Lily sits beside me as I write this, cradling our son in her arms…_"

The entry goes on to express fatherly love, his disbelief that this day has finally come, and intentions to raise his Alexander as the greatest magician of his generation. It's signed C. Halloway.

C., Lily, and Alexander Halloway. What a wonderful little family. I wonder briefly what caused them to drop Alex off at that awful little orphanage. Then I decide it doesn't matter. I take the entirety of the journal collection with me as I exit through a window.

Ptolemy miraculously sprouts wings and I fly away, disregarding both the nexus and the subsequent alarms. Cradling the journals in my arms, I flap toward London. I can already taste my soon to be freedom.

* * *

><p>1. I'm serious. He thinks he's the last surviving prince of some country or another.<p>

2. The things you come up with. Seven midgets? Glass slippers? Maidens that slumber centuries, awaiting true love's first kiss? Kings that turn things into gold with merely a touch? Utter nonsense. You'd think your entire civilization was suffering from hallucinations. (That would explain a lot, actually.)

3. She had, unfortunately, noticed me exiting her bag as a spider. I'd had to play dead after she stomped on me.

4. I was wearing ridiculous (but fashionable) high heels. White stilettos. (Why do human women subject themselves to these wobbling pieces of footwear? I was so off-balance, a breeze could've knocked me over.)

5. Because I like orange.

6. I stole his glasses- and he hadn't even noticed. Rather, hadn't had the presence of mind to ask for them back.

7. Women are so touchy. Helen was _obviously_ happily married.

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><p>Review if you like it, review if you hate it, review if you think I should never write another word.<p>

Just review, darn it!


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything but my orange socks. And Alex. But he doesn't really count.

**A/N:** Much thanks to **jedichild** for your review! I dislike the Bartimaeus-Nathaniel shipping myself. And I _hate_ it when canons are shipped homosexually when they are _obviously_ hetero. Anyway! This chapter is back to the present (which means it's set just after chapter one. I'm so confusing and unhelpful. At the same time.)

_Just a reminder for all you rusty Bartimaeus fans! The Shriveling Fire is "an incantation made up of 15 curses in five languages, used to destroy demons who deliberately disobey or refuse to carry out a command." -Johnathon Stroud's online reference._

* * *

><p>Alexander had started uttering the first syllables of the Shriveling Fire. I could feel the heat building around me. He switches to the second curse, though still in the first language.<p>

He's serious about this.[1]

"Listen to me, Alexander. You'll regret this. I've got marid friends. They'll be after you."

He ignored me, cruising through both second and third curses without a hitch. The heat is uncomfortable now- and it must be hot to bother a being of air and fire such as myself.

Blatant lies had failed me. It was time for a less roundabout method.

"Lexi. Listen up. I'm still good for countless years of service. I could be your most loyal djinni. I'd even remember your birthday for you."

I can see this interests him, but he still needs a bit more persuasion. The cat's fur has begun to smoke.

"I'd help you track down your parents!"

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I regret them.[2] What had I just done?

Alex cuts off in the middle of his incantation- switching it for a fast, easy ward to protect him from the Shriveling Fire's backlash. Obviously, leaving a powerful curse such as the Fire unfinished was a dangerous gamble. Alex was lucky that his tongue was nearly as quick and clever as mine- his protection was up just in time to shield him from the Fire.[3]

While he smoothed himself off, I twitched my tail impatiently. Then the reality of what I'd said struck me once again and I switched to Ptolemy's form just so I could massage my temples.[4] After a moment or so, I looked back up at him.

We stood facing each other, a boy and a half-boy, equally scornful.

"You'll help me find my parents?" Alex's smirk dropped from his face. A sincerely hopeful expression fluttered onto his stern features, taking ten years from his countenance. He looked like a young boy.

The Egyptian boy shrugged. "I've already been to what I assume is their mansion. I can take you there."[5]

Lexi-boy is beside himself. "Go on, then, demon. We haven't got all the time in the world."

"Hold on, you fool. We can't just waltz in and expect them to accept you as their long lost son. They wanted you out of their lives for some reason, right?" My words were harsh, yes, but he needed to face reality. I wondered if he was still caught up in that royalty daydream.

Devastation crumples his face, and he sits down hard, holding his head in his hands. "Oh, you're right! What am I thinking?"

"Well, I wouldn't call it _thinking, _exactly."

"Shut up,"[6] Alex snarls.

A needle and thread appear and stitch my feline mouth closed. Grotesque, but I hoped to unnerve the boy. His suddenly gray-green complexion seems to be a sign of success.

Alexander stands, smoothes his hair yet again, and begins pacing. "We need a plan, Bartimaeus. I want to speak to them directly. If that fails, however, we'll have to…"

I shot to my feet, prancing and hopping as if I was on a bed of hot coals, with one paw raised in the air.

"Yes, Bartimaeus?" He sighs, seemingly resigned to my uproariously amusing attitude.

"We'll have to approach them about it in a different way. Perhaps some 'government ordained survey' or some such. It'll have to conveniently include a few questions about their children, medical conditions, etc."

Eyes wide, he nods. "So, where is this mansion?"

* * *

><p>1. I've had masters threaten the Fire before. The more irritated of them have even begun the incantation. But, obviously, none of them have ever finished it. (Oho, that does sound quite ominous, doesn't it?)<p>

2. Never have I topped this blunder. My famed silver tongue had finally turned on me. Oh, woe the day!

3. Another lost chance. Someday, I'd be the death of him. (That is, in fact, a promise. And not a threat.)

4. A human habit, but it was strangely satisfying.

5. It was at this point that I realized a potential (but serious) problem. What if the Halloways had vacated the manor long ago, and their journals had been left behind? Passing a library onto new owners wasn't an uncommon practice. And I'd found the journals in a sort of dark corner…who knew how long they'd been sitting there?

6. As always, my comedic genius is scorned the appreciation it deserves.


End file.
